Like I Do
by Caitlyn Rose
Summary: "I think we both know that in the past twenty-five years, for better or worse, most things that you have done have had something to do with me, and most things that I've done have had something to do with you. Let's just face facts, here." (Post 1x13 Rayna/ Deacon)
1. Chapter 1

She could remember, back in the mists of time, seemingly endless junior high recesses spent huddled with the other girls, listening as all the boys of their acquaintance were rated for suitability according to appearance, personality and prospects. She herself had not been above the occasional doodle in a notebook, wondering which of the Seniors' surnames might suit her best.

In later years, through a protracted and highly dramatised process which always seemed to involve not merely two people but entire circles of friends, she had acted out some approximation of a relationship with one boy or another from high school. Occasionally she found herself the victim of a carefully calibrated seating plan at one of her father's country club bore-fests, and, ever the optimist, she humored the sons of Nashville's doctors and lawyers. She had never been in love, but she had heard enough country songs to know that this was all part of the process; the '_will they, won't they?,_' the '_my friend likes your friend_,' the awkward set-ups, the confusion, the angst, the let-downs. This was just the obstacle course that one had to run with any given guy, before the falling in love part could begin in earnest.

It was funny, really, because it had been nothing like that with him.

With him, it just felt inevitable.

As things turned out, falling in love with Deacon was hands down the easiest thing Rayna had ever done. It was the falling out of it that had been a complete fucking disaster.

* * *

This latest episode of drama had actually been fairly easily tucked away in some private corner of her brain along with all their saga's predecessors, such was the magnitude of the other problems Rayna was dealing with during her short month at home. As the date of their departure for Denver drew nearer though, a niggling discomfort had seemed to become more pronounced with each passing day, deepening to a rising dread in the pit of her stomach.

She knew was part of it was – she always felt miserable before leaving her daughters, and this time it was worse, because they were adamant they wanted to come with her. As for the other part – well, that didn't really require too much soul searching either.

And so it was that, almost despite her better judgement, Rayna James found herself sitting on a porch swing, waiting.

And waiting.

She had just about had enough of waiting, in fact, and wondered if maybe she was wasting her time - perhaps he had gone up to the cabin or something - when a car door slammed at the end of the driveway, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Out jumped the man himself in his normal uniform of jeans and a button down shirt, squinting up at her in the morning sunshine.

"Hey Rayna," he said quietly when he reached the porch. If he was surprised to see her, he didn't show it. But then, she had always thought that for a man who lay his every emotion out on the line most nights a week on some stage or other, he had a surprisingly good poker face.

She got to her feet, taken aback somewhat by his sudden appearance. "I… I just dropped the girls off at school and I…came to see you," she said superfluously, by way of explanation.

He nodded, settling himself on the swing with ease. "How can I help you?"

Rayna paused a little awkwardly for a second, as though gauging his mood, debating how to start and whether to stay standing, before eventually sitting down carefully beside him.

"I think we need to have a conversation." She forced herself to look at him directly. "And I think we probably should do it away from a million roadies and fans and – I don't know, whoever, just all that hoopla."

"I ain't got much to say to be perfectly honest. But, sure," he replied mildly. "Whatever you want."

"I think we should just start from the beginning," she continued, deciding to ignore what she recognized instantly as his patented passive aggression. She had come on here on a mission, namely to help preserve her sanity over the next month of touring, and Deacon, whether he liked it or not, was going to get on board.

He smiled tersely. "That might take a while, Ray."

"I mean the…_more recent_ beginning. I don't want any drama when we get back on the road, not with you, not with Juliette, not with anybody. I got bigger fish to fry."

"Fine with me," he shrugged, unable to resist adding flippantly, "seems like the one you oughta be having this conversation with is Liam McGuiness."

"Well, given that he's not even on the tour, that would be weird," she answered pointedly. "I'm here to talk to you."

She sighed, looking out ahead of her into the uninspiring stillness of suburbia on a Tuesday morning. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Look I just want to talk to you, ok? Why are you doing this tour Deacon? Seriously."

"God, Rayna!" he exclaimed almost laughingly, casting a hand through his hair. "I told you this. Juliette needed a guitar player and I - " he smirked slightly - "well, I can play guitar."

"O-kay," she replied carefully, with deliberate calm. "So what about me?"

"What_ about_ you?"

"Well, are you saying that you decided to come on this tour – this _five month, joint_ tour - and I just had nothing to do with that decision?"

"Pretty much. Shocking, I know," he said, wincing a little internally as he heard his own words aloud, but working to keep his expression blank. That was the thing about this woman in front of him, see - unless he consciously and consistently tried to block it out, it really didn't take very much to remember that he loved her more than anything.

"Okay, you know what, Deacon" Rayna said, turning to face him more directly as her voice rose sarcastically, her reserves of patience having evidently been exhausted. "I'm just gonna go ahead and call bullshit on that one. I think we both know that in the past twenty-five years, for better or worse, _most_ things that you have done have had _something_ to do with me, and most things that I've done have had something to do with you. Let's just face facts, here."

She stopped abruptly and took a breath, momentarily stunned by her own frankness. This was so much closer to the bone than either of them usually cared to venture. But after the month she'd had, Rayna was almost past the point of caring.

"You kissed me," she continued resolutely. "In an elevator."

"Yeah," he said, his voice gentler now.

"Well that was unexpected," she said dumbly, suddenly aware that this portion of the conversation might have befitted a little more forward-planning on her part. "I mean, you were being kind of a jerk to me, Deacon. And… you know. We haven't done that in a while."

"We do _this_ all the time, though, don't we, Ray?" he said, suddenly ready to talk, his voice rising in frustration. "Every once in a while something'll happen. We'll piss each other off, or we'll get a little too close in each other's space, or we just…forget, like at The Bluebird a couple months ago. And then we'll have one of these long conversations – conversations slash fights," he amended grimly, "and at the end of 'em, not a damn thing's different, is it?"

He was looking at her intently now, holding her gaze, and Rayna felt the breath being sucked out of her a bit. She liked to think fame hadn't changed her, not in any real way at least, but she knew that wasn't true. It had made her steelier, more guarded. And lately, she'd kept her armor on at home too; she'd worn it as a wife, as a daughter. She wasn't quite sure how Deacon could still manage to make her feel so completely naked.

The silence rested between, thick and heavy, and Rayna forgot why she had come here. What had she wanted, exactly? For them to agree to cut all ties, to just give it up and ignore one another completely? For them to fall into bed together? Or what? To exchange apologies, make some vague, cautious declarations of affection, ease their way back to the safe middle ground they'd lived in for so long? She honestly didn't know any more.

"Look, Ray, you don't have to worry." Deacon said eventually. "I meant what I said in Atlanta. What happened, it was… _weak_. It won't happen again. I just..." he seemed to be searching for an explanation, frustrated when he couldn't find the words, or at least none that he was allowed to say, none that wouldn't make this whole thing worse.

"I don't know, whatever, you're married," he finally mumbled gruffly, reverting to their script, seemingly talking to himself as much as to her.

Rayna swallowed. "Teddy and I are getting a divorce."

Deacon looked up at her sharply, his expression freezing. "What?"

She just looked at him, saying nothing.

"When did this happen?"

"'bout a month ago."

"Jesus," he replied seriously, exhaling slowly. "Jesus. Why didn't you tell me, Ray?"

She shrugged, eyes downcast. "This is me telling you."

"Is it... I mean, is it for sure, or are you guys just, like, separating?"

"We've _been_ just separated," Rayna admitted. "Now we're getting a divorce."

He nodded, evidently trying to process this information. "What about the girls? I guess you gotta tell 'em, huh?"

"Already have," she said, oddly touched by the unexpected question, by the fact that he'd thought of them first. "It was…" she shook her head, blinking back sudden tears furiously. "God. It wasn't good, Deacon."

"You want to go inside? Let's go inside," he suggested suddenly, rising decisively. "Let's just, I don't know, have a cup of coffee or...something."

For once, Rayna didn't over-think it. She didn't question what this would mean for her marriage, she didn't worry how any one of a dozen others would perceive her and Deacon alone together, she didn't even try to analyze the conversation they'd just had. She just nodded, and found herself getting to her feet, found herself being guided through the front door, his hand feather-light on the small of her back.

She felt it in every cell of her body.

It was just a little thing, just another little thing that he had never really given up, and that she had never really wanted him to. Maybe they both were weak.

* * *

_Am working on a second part of this, but i suppose whether I post it will depend on whether there's any enthusiasm for this first part! Hope you enjoyed, let me know if so - constructive criticism also very welcome!_


	2. Chapter 2

She had gone to the bathroom to splash some water on her face, and he was already pouring the coffee when she returned to the kitchen-diner.

"Smells good," she said simply, sidling up to him and reaching into the refrigerator for the milk, pouring a small amount into one cup and a bit more into the other.

He stirred both drinks and smiled unconsciously at this small ritual of domesticity.

"So," he said, handing her the one with most milk and leading them over to the couch, "you wanna talk about it?"

Rayna drew her knees up under her chin as she sat down, cradling her cup in both hands. "I don't know, really. I don't know what to say. I mean, I don't expect you to, like, counsel me over the break-up of my marriage, Deacon. You of all people. I didn't come here for that. I'm not totally sure what I _did_ come here for at this point," she acknowledged with a small self-deprecating smile, "but I know it wasn't that."

"No, I know. I just… want to know if you're ok."

"I'm fine," she said reassuringly. "The whole thing's been a bit of a shock to the system, obviously. And it's just really crappy timing, with me having to do this tour and everything. But I'm fine. I just want to get back on the road, do what I have to do, no drama, and get back home to Maddy and Daphne as soon as possible."

Deacon nodded, remembering their earlier conversation on the porch when she'd said just that.

"So, this whole thing," he proceeded cautiously, not wanting to overstep the mark. "Are you saying… I mean… was this _his_ idea?"

"Well, it was my idea for us to have sort of a trial separation kinda thing, which Teddy wasn't too happy about actually. But anyway, turns out he's having an affair now." she said calmly, "I don't know, maybe we can't really call it an affair if he and I aren't together anymore. Buy yeah, you know that woman Peggy Kenter?"

"The campaign woman?"

"Yeah. Well he's with her now apparently. He showed up in Chicago - out of the blue – and just… said he wanted a divorce. So yeah, that part was his idea."

"I saw him," Deacon replied without forethought, piecing things together even as he spoke. "Going into your hotel room in Chicago. I was coming up to your room and I saw him at your door, God."

It took a moment, but this information seemed to register visibly with Rayna, her eyes darting rapidly to his.

"You were at my hotel room?" she questioned sharply.

"Yeah."

"So…you got my text," she continued, realization dawning.

"Yeah," Deacon repeated, as he too realized his inadvertent admission.

"And you were coming up to my hotel room to -"

"- _Talk_" he supplied helpfully, finishing her sentence for her.

"Right," she replied lightly, holding his gaze for a moment, before shifting to concentrate resolutely on her coffee cup.

He followed suit, and the silence between them was deafening.

Rayna James had been married for twelve long years, and Deacon Claybourne would never have thought of himself as the type of guy who'd do anything with married women other than give them a wide berth. He would have loved to say, therefore, that this was the first time he'd sat with this particular married woman, both of them paralyzed like this, both of them thinking about the sex they were not having. But that would have been a lie.

* * *

_Many thanks for all your feedback on chapter 1. This chapter, although short, is a direct result of that encouragement. _


	3. Chapter 3

"You know what," Rayna said pleasantly, breaking the silence. "I think I'm just gonna go. I really just wanted to come by and, you know, clear the air before we hit the road again. I'm sure you have plenty of other things to be doing with your day."

She reached down for her boots, lain neatly at the side of the couch. "Thanks for the coff –"

"Well, wait," he cut in, moving towards her unconsciously. "Hang on a minute, you only just got here."

Rayna did not, at this point, see fit to mention how rapidly his tune had changed since she'd arrived not an hour previously, for which he was grateful.

"Just… take a breath, Ray," he continued softly. "This is a big deal. Talk to me."

She cocked an eyebrow sceptically, still bent forward, fiddling with the lace on her boot. "You don't want to hear about all this, Deacon."

She was almost certainly correct, he thought, but he had always been somewhat of a glutton for punishment in this regard.

"I just want to know that you're doin' alright. That's what I want."

"Well I'm fine," she replied robustly. "Seriously. I'm sad for the kids obviously."

Rayna stopped in her tracks, sighing slightly and pursing her lips, her voice more fragile somehow when she spoke again.

"I'm…devastated for them, really. I just wanted them to have a happy family so badly, you know? Normal. And now that's all ruined, and I can never, ever make it better."

She sniffed. "And I'm sad for Teddy – I gotta say I'm a considerable amount _less_ sad for him now that he's shacked up with Peggy," she added as an afterthought, allowing herself a wry smile. "But still. I know he tried for a long time, and it wasn't always easy being married to me I guess."

"And what about _you_, Rayna?" Deacon asked, looking into her eyes unfalteringly, getting right to the heart of things as he usually did.

She shrugged, leaving her shoe aside and turning to give him her full attention again, sinking back a little into the couch cushions. "I guess I'm sad for me too," she admitted finally, tiredly. "When we got married, I really wanted to make it work. I was determined, you know? I really thought we could. And I… denied other things, I sacrificed other things," she continued vaguely, "but now it's all turned out to be for nothing. We failed anyway. I don't like failing."

"No," he smiled a little. "I know you don't."

"But you know what the thing is?" Rayna persisted, almost as though he hadn't spoken, as thought she were talking to herself, "If we ignore all of that, when I think about Teddy and I not actually being married anymore, I… I don't think I'm really sad about _that_. You know?"

As a matter of fact, Deacon didn't particularly know – most of his brain power at this stage was devoted to simply trying to absorb all this new information, trying to fathom the reach it would have into so many lives.

Clocking his blank expression, Rayna suddenly felt anxious. "That sounds awful, doesn't it?"

"What? No," he said hurriedly, not entirely sure what the right response was. "It just sounds like…how you feel. However you feel is fine, Ray."

She just looked at him in response, her glance lingering, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Anyway," she continued briskly, smiling more broadly now, shaking her head vigorously as though trying to divest her brain of its thoughts, "We really don't need to talk about this anymore. I already had my meltdown in Atlanta, I'm not planning on having any more."

Deacon's mind, still working overtime to catch up, flitted back to the night she'd missed her cue, looking like a lost child who had accidentally wandered out on the stage.

"I knew there was something going on with you that night" he muttered.

Rayna said nothing, simply shrugging slightly in response. The entire night had been a debacle of epic proportions from start to finish, with the only blessing being that large sections of it honestly remained pretty hazy to this day. She was making active efforts to expel that which she _could_ recall from her mind as quickly as possible.

"What's the deal with you and McGuiness?" Deacon blurted suddenly.

He'd wavered slightly on asking the question, not wanting to upset the apple cart – not wanting to upset _her_ – before deciding just to go for it. There were only so many opportunities that they seemed to get to be all-the-way honest with one another these days, and the sight of Liam and Rayna laughing together in that hotel lobby had bothered him more than he would ever have admitted.

"There _is_ no deal with us. I told you that," she replied, unable to help the tiniest hint of an edge creeping into her voice, even as she worked to keep her expression benign.

"Didn't look that way," he countered, cursing the way his tone sounded slightly petulant even to his own ears.

Rayna raised an eyebrow at him, as if to strongly suggest he re-evaluate this line of conversation.

He just looked right back at her, unwilling to let her off the hook now that they'd come this far.

"Eugh Deacon," she groaned, her face contorting as she ran her hands distractedly through her hair. "I don't really want to talk about this. Haven't I given you enough scoop for one morning?"

He smiled gently. "I ain't a reporter, Ray."

Something about that smile seemed to break her down a little bit. "Well you'd make a damn good one, that's for sure," she replied, laughing despite herself.

She threw her head backwards and exhaled dramatically, before righting herself again quickly and meeting his gaze. "Ok, you know what?" she began matter-of-factly, "here's the deal. I went out with Liam McGuiness and got drunk on whiskey. It was very much a whiskey kind of night. And then we kissed, but then I just ended up crying on his bathroom floor."

"About Teddy?"

"Mmm," she mumbled noncommittally. "Just everything, you know. It wasn't my finest hour."

"Wow" he replied, casting a hand ruefully over his stubble, trying hard not to react to this latest revelation in a way he would regret later. He had made that mistake once already, when they spoke outside of the hotel in Atlanta, and it had made for a long journey home.

"Why didn't you talk to _me_?" he ventured at last.

"Come on Deacon." She rolled her eyes. "You know why. You're not exactly a neutral party in this whole thing. And things were so weird between us after the…elevator, and then me texting you and just – ugh," she exclaimed in frustration, unable to get the words out in any eloquent fashion. "To be honest with you – and I know this isn't very admirable - I just wanted to get completely and totally shitfaced and just… not feel anything."

Deacon couldn't help but give a small laugh. He had to admit, it was not an urge that was entirely unfamiliar to him. Neither did he have much difficulty in understanding that sometimes, you wanted to talk to the person who had been there for twenty five years, who knew every bone in your body.

Other times, you decidedly did not.

"Man, you and Liam though…" he groaned to himself, not cruelly, just as though the mental image pained him.

"Nuh-uh" she protested immediately, stopping him before he could go any further. "Making bad decisions when drunk is not exactly brand new to you, Deacon, is it? In fact," she couldn't resist adding sardonically, "when it comes to women, your track record hasn't been awesome even since you got sober, I hope you don't mind my sayin'."

"What?" he exclaimed, taking it in good fun. "How did this become about _my_ screw-ups?! And I'll have you know that I have had some very nice… _company_ over the years."

"I'll bet. Any port in a storm, right?" she replied loftily.

"Well, I don't know if I'd put it quite like that."

"Oh, you wouldn't? You telling me nothing's ever happened with you and Juliette Barnes?" she fired back, hardly realizing what she was saying until she'd said it, and suddenly things weren't so jovial any more.

Deacon, momentarily stunned into silence, gritted his teeth. He had not lived like a monk for the past decade, and he knew that Rayna was aware of that and didn't expect anything different. However, he had never discussed any of his romantic entanglements with her. It was an odd thing, really – he wasn't (usually) ashamed of them and he didn't actively try to hide them; nevertheless, he didn't particularly want her to find out about them, either. It just felt wrong to him.

He supposed perhaps it was similar to the way in which she had always sidestepped any discussion of her marriage around him. Even in the smallest ways, he knew that she tried to spare him – spare them both, really – from a conversation turned sour. They both knew that, for example, when she told him excitedly about seeing the girls in some kind of talent show recently, Teddy had probably been there too. He had probably been the one sitting beside her and holding her hand, cheering on their children and buying the milkshakes afterwards. Those were the facts, and neither Deacon nor Rayna could deny them. But that didn't mean there was any need to dwell on them. Their fragile friendship could only bear so much weight.

"I… _Rayna_," he managed eventually. "I don't know what to – it's not like we're… I mean we're not _anything, _we never…" he trailed off, evidently giving up on any hope of a coherent explanation.

"See?" she forced herself to respond briskly, ignoring the irrational sting she felt at hearing this long-suspected information confirmed. "It's exactly the same thing, Deacon. I mean, does it make me _happy_ to think about the two of you together? No, actually it really, really doesn't. But I'm married – or I _was_ married, I guess – so that means I don't get to be a bitch about it. You don't get to be a bitch about Liam either. Ok?"

"Ok," he said simply, that being all he could manage in reply. Her point, he had to admit, had well and truly been made.

"Well…good," she bit back, a little awkwardly, and he got the impression that he'd taken the wind out of her sails slightly – as though she'd been gearing up for a good old war of words.

"Good," he returned, unable to help a smile rising to his lips at the sight of her nonplussed expression.

She managed a distant roll of her eyes, but he could see the corners of her lips tugging upwards a fraction too.

"_Great_," she said sassily, but there was no malice in her tone. She just wanted to have the last word. "I'm just gonna drink this nice cup of coffee then."

And with that, she moved to prop her feet up on the coffee table in front of her, bringing the now-lukewarm liquid to her mouth, that furtive half-smile still lingering.

Consciously or unconsciously, Deacon copied her action, stretching his legs out in front of him, staring vacantly into the middle distance, sneaking a glance at her occasionally. Rayna James sure was something else.

This was another funny thing with them; they hurt each other – sometimes accidentally and sometimes on purpose. But forgiveness had always seemed to come pretty easily. Deacon always thought maybe it was the result of knowing – really _knowing_ - that, like it or not, however the chips might fall, they would probably never be rid of one another. Once the threat of a permanent estrangement was off the table, drawing out the process of reconciliation unnecessarily just seemed stupid. Even back when they were together it had been this way - probably, in fact, even more so then; they had loved and fought and forgiven, and they had done it all hard and fast.

"You know," he said eventually, in a soft tone of mild interest, as though he might just as well have been commenting on the weather or the opening of a new Starbucks, "we've been apart the exact amount of time we were together now."

"Yeah," Rayna answered quietly, turning her head to face him. She wasn't sure how long they'd been sitting together in calm silence – it felt like a while, but it had probably been no more than five or ten minutes. Nonetheless, it almost came as a surprise to hear him speak at all, never mind steering them towards something so dangerously contemplative. "Twelve years, huh?"

"Twelve years," he repeated, lapsing into another silence.

It was she who broke it this time;

"I think at this point," she swallowed, forcing the words out, "it's pretty obvious that if either one of us could just… just _stop_ this, then we probably would have. It's painful and it's…"

"Exhausting," Deacon supplied, eliciting a grim laugh from her. "I… I wouldn't stop, though," he continued quietly, acutely aware that they were so far into unchartered waters now. "I mean, it's like you said… I can't anyway, so it doesn't much matter. But I don't even think I want to, despite…everything. Do you? I mean really, Ray?"

Rayna said nothing for a long moment, confronted suddenly with the crystal-clear reality that this was a question that could change her entire life. She lifted her feet down from the coffee table, hunching over a little so that her elbows rested on her knees, her body angled towards his.

"Nobody else really calls me that, you know," she murmured, her voice little more than a whisper, as though she had only just noticed the shortened form of her name he'd been using for years. "I don't know why, just… you're the only one who ever really did."

She was stalling, seemingly unconsciously, but he didn't really mind. He had the sense she was getting to it. After all these years, they were finally getting to it.

He shifted his position too so that it mirrored hers, their knees almost touching. "I used to call you all kinds of things," he said softly.

He used to call her 'sweetheart.'

"You did. I remember," Rayna nodded, each word slow and weighted with meaning, her eyes never leaving his. "I am forty-four years old, Deacon. Jesus. Can you believe that?" She laughed in amazement. "I'm forty-four. I am somebody's boss. I'm somebody's mother. I'm somebody's wife, still, I guess – at least technically. But when you kissed me in that elevator…God," she breathed out, swallowing thickly, trying not to let the fear overwhelm her. "I just wanted to kiss you and kiss you and kiss you. I wouldn't have stopped. I… I really don't think I would have stopped."

"_Rayna_…" he whispered intensely, reaching out instinctively to touch her hand, and that was all it took before her lips were on his.

It was a fierce, thorough, smacking sort of kiss, her hand pinned to the back of his head, and when Deacon moaned gutturally at the sudden contact, Rayna felt it before she heard it. Their mouths moved together, needy and insistent, until they kissed each other breathless.

She pulled away, resting her forehead on his for a frozen second, feeling his breath on her face, before moving back a little more to look at him.

"Hi," he said quietly.

She bit the inside of her bottom lip. "Hi."

"You done talking, huh, Ray?" he asked, cracking a smile.

She smiled then too, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. "Guess I am."

When they looked back on it in years to come, they wouldn't know who made the first move this time; they wouldn't be able to say for sure who leaned in to whom, whose lips captured the other's. But somehow, without warning, it was happening and they were kissing again, slower and more deliberately now. One of his hands moved to her face, the other brushed against her breast on its way to caress her hair. She tugged blindly at the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards her, on top of her, anything – just closer, _closer. _When she felt his tongue move against hers, Rayna honestly thought she might cry with the sheer relief of it.

He pushed her back against the couch, leaning some of his weight on her deliciously, as her fingers traced over the muscles on his back and they kissed languidly, finding a rhythm. Soon he was pressing his mouth against her neck, her cheeks, her eyes, every part of her face he could reach, and she was letting him do it, mewling softly from the back of her throat, one hand tangled in his hair.

Reaching down to unbutton her shirt, Deacon suddenly paused, kissing her lips delicately once more before pulling away to look at her. Sensing the hesitation, her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed up at him expectantly. He searched her face for any signs of uncertainty or fear, but all he seemed to see there was soft, warm acquiescence, and it was so achingly familiar…

"I don't want to do this unless you mean it," he murmured nevertheless, giving her one last chance to get out of jail free. "We can't take it back."

Rayna's heart was beating madly in her chest, but oddly, she wasn't nervous at all. She just wriggled her hand in between them, placing it on top of his, undoing the button on her shirt. The next one followed, then the next and the next, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his the entire time

She couldn't remember ever meaning anything more.

* * *

_Just wanted to thank you all so much for your reviews - especially all you anonymous reviewers, or anyone else I have not gotten around to thanking personally. They really have been such an encouragement. I am thinking of writing a fourth and final chapter to this, probably a more fluffy one - but three also seems like a nice rounded number, and maybe I should quit whilst I'm ahead! So, if anyone has any thoughts on that, I'd love to hear them. As always, constructive criticism welcome!_


	4. Chapter 4

Rayna wasn't sure how long they had lain like this, just looking at each other, but she could feel her eyes closing now, her limbs pleasantly heavy, his breathing like music to her ears.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

She shifted slightly in bed, not wanting to fall asleep, and reached blindly into the space between them for his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

"Did that really just happen?' she murmured hazily, languid half- kisses pressed to his knuckles.

He raised an eyebrow. "If you have to ask, guess I mustn't have done it right."

She burst into a sudden peel of wicked laughter, drawing him in closer towards her and resting her forehead on his chest. "Well, I sure didn't think when I woke up this morning that I'd end up here," she admitted blithely, her words muffled.

"Can't say I did either," Deacon replied, his arm instinctively curving loosely around her shoulders as he smiled along with her, his entire being abuzz with the thrill of getting to see her this way again. Dirty laugh and messy hair and goofy happy and, crucially, naked in his bed. It almost felt like too much, too good to be true.

"We probably have to have a serious discussion about this now, huh?" he continued, as if entirely resigned to the fact – even verging on amused by it. This was _them_ after all; falling into bed together with no repercussions was simply not on the cards. Whatever was coming, they might as well get it over with.

Rayna froze for a second, groaning against his skin before pulling back a bit to look up at him.

"Yeah probably," she nodded slowly, feeling as though he'd suggested they go for a 10k run and then maybe get to work on their tax returns.

Seeing the other's thoroughly unenthused expression, knowing it was probably mirrored blatantly on their own face, neither of them could help but laugh.

"You know what, though, we talk _all the time_." Rayna backtracked, a smile playing on her lips.

Deacon rolled his eyes in mock sarcasm. "Talk, talk, talk."

"We _never_ do _this_. How 'bout we just… enjoy it for a minute?" she said quietly.

"I definitely could do that," he agreed readily, leaning down to kiss her, and it was amazing, really, how easy things could be between them, right up until they got so fucking hard.

"You could?' she smiled, and even though he knew she'd scoff at the adjective, he thought she looked adorable.

"Mmm hmm." Another kiss. "You want something to eat?"

She pulled away from him, cocking an eyebrow playfully. "You offering to cook for me, Deacon Claybourne? Dear lord. You got some game these days, huh?"

"Little bit," he grinned, rising from the bed and grabbing his boxers. "I'll be right back. Eggs sound good?"

"Eggs sound very good," she replied, almost embarrassed to find herself feeling utterly girlish and charmed. "Hey you mind if I jump in the shower real quick?"

"Sure," he called, already on his way out the door. "Towels in the bathroom."

Rayna just smiled – she couldn't seem to stop smiling – spreading her limbs out across the space he had left. She'd get up in a minute… just one more minute. After so many months (maybe even years) of feeling confused or worried or guilty or just vaguely, inexplicably dissatisfied, it was amazing to find herself feeling nothing but good.

Whatever it was between her and Deacon – and sometimes she really had no idea what it was – she knew it could not be reduced to a mere physical attraction; it had always been more than sex, and it was to this fact that she had attributed their ability to salvage some form of continued friendship from the wreckage of their romance.

But then, for the two of them, even sex itself had been more than just the act – it was intimacy and spontaneity and engagement on every level, and when they had moved together again for the first time that morning, Rayna realised how foolish it had been (what a _waste_) to have ever pretended that they could do without this. She had kissed every inch of his face and he had looked into her eyes, and their bodies remembered each other.

It was new and electrifying, but somehow so, so achingly familiar - _bone-meltingly_ good. Rayna didn't think she had ever felt physical or emotional relief like it in her life. It was like finally releasing a breath she hadn't even known she had been holding – and when it was over, there seemed nothing logical to do but laugh and cling to one another and do it again and again.

There had always been people of their mutual acquaintance, she mused, dragging herself up and padding across the hall to the bathroom, who had been sceptical about her assurances that her relationship with Deacon had never once crossed the line in all these years. Some of her other long-time band members, for instance, or Watty – hell, even Teddy.

But Rayna could see now that this was exactly why it had been so. One kiss would never have been just a bit of fun, a brief moment for old time's sake. It would always have led to another and another. It was like being on a diet and knowing that even a single chocolate would be your undoing. Once you'd tasted one, you'd eat the whole box.

She switched on the faucet, tying her hair up away from her face and waiting for the water to warm up before stepping in under the spray of water.

She had barely had a chance to wash her face when the shower door creaked behind her, a hand grabbing hers. She gasped, turning at lightening speed, to find a grinning Deacon suddenly pressed up against her.

"Jesus, Deacon! This is like a horror movie!" she exclaimed loudly, clasping a hand to her heart.

"I thought it would be romantic!" he laughed, apparently entirely unperturbed.

"You're lucky I didn't knock you out! What are you doing here?" she asked, although she had a fairly good idea of what he was doing there.

He shrugged. "I was poaching eggs and then I heard the pipes start up and I just thought… I need a shower, you're _in_ the shower… why waste the water?"

"I didn't know you were such an environmentalist."

"Very much so," he replied earnestly, his hands finding her waist. "I'm sponsoring a koala somewhere in the Australian outback right now."

Rayna exploded with laughter, throwing her head back. "You are so full of shit," she mumbled affectionately, allowing herself to be pressed against the wall, allowing him to touch her breasts, allowing him to kiss his way up her throat and jawline.

"I swear to God," he maintained, smiling against her skin, and actually, he had so many completely random and unexpected interests that she wouldn't have been able to say for certain that he was lying.

She put her arms around his neck, her hands in his hair, and tugged his face up to hers, kissing him in earnest.

"God Rayna, you're so beautiful," he breathed, feeling almost drunk with it. He was only human after all, and she was warm and wet and pliant and he was drowning in her.

"Maybe twenty years ago," she replied, as if on reflex.

"Twenty years ago, today, whatever. When we met, you were the most perfect thing I had ever seen," Deacon said unequivocally, pulling back to look her straight in the eye. "And there's not a day since that's been different."

Rayna smiled softly, holding his gaze for what felt like a long moment before bringing his lips back to hers sweetly.

Barely a minute later, she snapped away again without warning. "Hey Deacon? You're not just using me for my hot body are you?"

He looked up at her laughing eyes and grinned. "You know Ray, honestly, along with a lot of things that drive me crazy, there's actually a lot of things I like about you, and we could talk about them all day at some other time," he offered. "But for right now, let's focus on how incredibly, incredibly sexy you are."

"Ok, let's," she agreed seriously.

And suddenly there was simply no time for anything as inconsequential as words.

* * *

_A/N: One more potential part, guys (and then that's really it!) - provided i ever get time to write it and you still want to read it. Thanks for the feedback thus far :)_


	5. Chapter 5

"Here! You! Come again!" Rayna sang, grinning all the while. "And here I go!"

"Man, I love Dolly," she sighed happily as the song wound down and the beginnings of another – she thought it was a Waylon Jennings – crept up.

"I know you do. I still remember that night at Jack's, I think that was the first time I ever really saw you star struck."

"Well, God, it was Dolly Parton," she replied, lifting her cup of coffee from the nightstand to her lips. "She's an icon, it's like meeting Elvis or something. I mean," Rayna cocked an eyebrow sardonically, "do I wish I had not been eating barbeque spare ribs at the time? Yes. Yes I do. But you can't have everything in life."

"No, you can't," Deacon agreed with a hearty laugh, remembering how Rayna had nearly choked on her food and scrambled for a napkin when the woman herself had approached their table out of the blue one night in downtown Nashville some time in the late eighties.

"She said she thought you had spunk, d'you remember?"

"Are you kidding me? That's going to be on my tombstone. 'Here lies Rayna James. Dolly Parton said she had spunk.'"

He just chuckled in reply, assembling the last bite of poached egg, bacon and toast on his fork, his plate resting precariously alongside hers on the mattress in front of them.

"Not bad, if I do say so myself," he said, swallowing and reclining back against the pillows.

"Pretty damn good," she agreed, leaning over to him in a way that probably shouldn't have felt so instinctual.

She had meant it just to be a peck, a thank-you, but he tugged her down so that she was nearly on top of him, kissing her lips over and over, breaking away each time before going back for more.

"Mmmm, I gotta go," she managed in between kisses, feeling her shin clanging against a plate and sitting up to gather their dishes and cutlery together, setting them on the floor for the time being at least.

"You gotta _go_?" he replied dramatically, as though he could think of nothing more ludicrous.

"Uh huh. I know we basically just had breakfast again but it's like…" she glanced at her watch, "two thirty."

"Places to go, people to see, huh?" he enquired softly.

Nothing lasted forever, this he knew.

"Yep. Believe it or not, you were actually just one of a whole list of things I planned on doing today."

"_Really_?" he replied, sounding suddenly fascinated, enjoying the look on her face as realisation of the innuendo dawned.

"Shut up, I didn't mean it like that!" She rolled her eyes, swatting half-heartedly at his arm, her fingers lingering, absently working their way down to meet his. "I just meant, you know, I thought I was going to swing by here, talk to you - probably make things worse - and then I had a million errands to run. We leave in less than a week."

"Ah, it'll all get done, it always does,"

"That is such a guy thing to say" she protested, shaking her head in amused incredulity. "First of all, it only gets done if you _do_ it. Second of all, you have no idea what it's like to need more than a shirt and a pair of jeans."

Deacon shrugged, apparently still unconvinced and unconcerned. "Well, you know, from what I hear, you're some big deal now Ms. James. Ain't you got somebody whose job it is to do your bidding?"

She laughed at the phrase, tilting her head to the side in consideration. If she called up Bucky right now asking for tampons and pantyhose and some new novels for the road, she had to admit there was a good chance he would rally the troops and somehow they'd arrive to her door – but it wasn't a theory she'd ever been inclined to test.

"Maybe" she conceded with a smile. "But picking up my kids from school is definitely all on me."

"Alright, I'll give you that one."

"So what's the deal with the girls, anyway?" he continued, when Rayna appeared to be making no moves towards actually leaving. "You going to bring them on the tour?"

She grimaced. "I don't know. I mean it would be great for me to have them there - I'm just not so sure it would be great for them - in the long term, you know? They're going to be on break from school pretty soon though, so they'll be coming to New York at least."

"Well, that should be fun, right? They can see the sights, all that."

"Yeah," she flopped against the pillows beside him. "I gotta say, much as it pains me to admit it – and you _know_ it pains me," she added with a wry smile, "I think the thing they're most looking forward to is seeing the sight that is Juliette Barnes up close."

Deacon grinned. "Well, if it makes 'em happy right now…she obviously ain't all bad, is she?"

She raised an eyebrow, evidently a little unconvinced by his logic. "We'll see."

"So how's everything working out with Aria?" he asked, changing tack. "Y'all getting into a rhythm by now? Hey, you want to finish off this coffee?"

He had lifted the cafetiere from his nightstand and was offering it over towards her.

"Mmm," she mumbled in assent, holding out her cup. It was probably lukewarm by now but she didn't mind. "Stop, you have the rest."

"Anyway, yeah, it's working out great," she continued, as Deacon drained the last of the coffee into his own mug. "She's… really great, you know, she's a pro. Why?" she said archly, suddenly mischievous. "Are you jealous?"

"I don't know, are you jealous of me playing with Juliette?" he fired back immediately. When they got into this territory, they were always able to match each other serve for serve.

Rayna rolled her eyes, opening her mouth as if to retort and then closing it again. "Oh Deacon," she re-started. "I mean that's just…such a strong word, you know, I don't know if-"

"That's a 'yes' then," he interrupted, sounding thoroughly amused

Rayna smiled despite herself. On the verge of feigned outrage, she stopped suddenly and just looked at him for a moment, her body tilting towards him more fully.

Smile fading now, her eyes narrowed slightly and he got the sense she was deciding how honest to be as she reached over, tracing her fingers along the stubble of his jaw line.

"It was the one thing we always had, wasn't it? She said softly, after a pause. "That's where we started and even when things were bad, when it was all falling apart…or when I was with Teddy…those lights would go down and it was like, '_thank God_,' you know?"

He nodded mutely. He knew exactly.

"We still get to have _something_. And now," she shrugged a little, "when you're out there with Juliette, I gotta tell you, a lot of the time, I'm so busy - I'm thinking about this thing and trying to do the other thing, and I just want to put on a good show. And Aria really is great. But sometimes," she admitted quietly, "sometimes I'm so jealous I can hardly breathe."

It was an emotional suckerpunch, and he was surprised by how hard it hit him. Something about the way she was lying there in a pair of his boxers and an old tshirt, no make-up and that expression in her eyes… Rayna suddenly looked so young – so open. He tilted his face slightly, nuzzling against her hand, unable to break her gaze even if he'd wanted to.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. And there was no accusation, no pain - just observation and a small smile.

"I guess that was kind of the point though, wasn't it?"


	6. Chapter 6

He looked at her unblinkingly, his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly.

"Come on," she murmured, that small smile still playing on her lips, as though to reassure him. "I mean, if we're admitting to stuff…"

Deacon cracked a rueful smile then too. "I don't know, Ray. I…" he clicked his tongue. "I don't know. C'mere."

He reached out for a fistful of worn cotton, tugging at her waist, and Rayna fell easily against him without protest, her leg finding a space between his. She could pick her battles as well as the next woman.

"D'you really have to go?" he mumbled, not wanting to get too comfortable.

She glanced at her watch. "I could probably stay for an hour or so. I gotta pick the girls up at four though."

Suddenly, everything else seemed like it could wait.

Deacon kissed the top of her head, inhaling deeply. Her hair still smelled the same, it always had. Entirely, entirely unexpectedly, this had proved to be the most powerful temptation of the last decade of his life.

"It was kinda weird when I was out with the Revel Kings," he said eventually, fingers still working their way absently through her long tresses. "I mean, I know we've never really talked about it, but…"

She tilted her head upwards slightly to look at him. "We haven't," she said evenly, her eyebrows rising slightly. As they both knew all too well, the subject of his premature departure had in fact been just one of many things they'd argued about in recent memory.

"Well, Cy pretty much tried to attack Scarlett so-"

"You are _kidding_ me," Rayna interjected, aghast, reeling backwards to look at him properly. "Well, is she alright?"

Deacon nodded grimly. "Just lucky I came in when I did, I guess."

"Dear _God_. I'm so sorry," she said gently, her head lolling against his chest again, lazy, open mouthed kisses pressed to the nearest skin she could reach. "So that's why you left, huh?"

"Yeah, that's why I left. But… even before that, you know, I kind of knew it just wasn't jiving right. I mean I'd be doing these songs – and maybe they were really great songs and maybe the crowd was eating 'em up, but it was like, '_I don't even know what these songs are really about._' You know? And I'd look over at the other guys and I just wouldn't really feel anything."

"Mmm," she replied. "So you're saying that's…" she swallowed, careful to keep her tone neutral. "That's the difference with Juliette?"

"What?" Deacon frowned, genuinely confused. "No. I'm saying that was the difference with you."

"_Oh_."

He rubbed his thumb against her cheek, tilting her face upwards, and when he kissed her she smiled against his lips.

"Then, why…?" she started when they broke apart.

"Why'd I sign with Juliette?" he pre-empted. "She asked me, Ray. You fired me. And, I guess I… _did_ want you to regret it. I guess I _did_ want to show you I could do it without you. Hell, I wanted to feel like I actually _could_ do it without you, after the way things went with the Revel Kings. "

Rayna just nodded in quiet understanding. She probably hadn't been above somewhat similar moves in the past herself. And whilst she couldn't say seeing Deacon board that private plane was the happiest moment of her life, she assumed watching her marry someone else hadn't been up there in his top ten either.

"Plus, you know, in all honesty, I do think there's some talent hidden somewhere in there with Juliette," he continued.

Rayna shifted, sitting up a little more against the pillows, one leg pulled up to her chest. "You know what?" she said with a dramatic sigh. "I have to say… that song she did in Chicago – '_Consider Me'_? I was surprised. Didn't think she had it in her."

"I mean, do I think she's the next June Carter?" he asked rhetorically. "No probably not. Do I think she's always sweetness and light? Hell no. But I think she cares about music."

"Mmm. Well, you might be right," she admitted, rolling her eyes, though looking amused nonetheless. "But you know what I also think, Deacon Claybourne?" she shoved his shoulder playfully. "I think you just like the ego boost."

"Oh no…no?!" she continued, seeing his incredulous expression. "'_Oh Deacon, Deacon, mould me! Educate me! Your word is law, oh wise one! I just want to learn from literally the best musician living in the world right now._'"

She threw her head back in laughter, tugging on his arm to drag him up beside her. "That doesn't do it for you, honey? Not even a little bit? Come on!"

"She's young, I'm just helping her out!" he protested, laughing too. "And listen to you, '_reigning queen of country music_.' You telling me you don't love that?"

"You know what, Deacon?" she scrunched her face up in a grin. "Some days I _do _love it."

He just laughed again, nodding towards the iPod on his nightstand. "What do you want to hear on this?"

"Surprise me."

"The reigning queen and the elder statesman, huh?" Rayna sighed blithely, as he fiddled around with the gadget and the beginnings of something from _The Black Keys_ floated out through the speakers. "_God_. Who'da thunk that'd ever be us?"

"Not us, that's for sure."

She raised an eyebrow. "See, this is the difference between me and Juliette Barnes. I mean, one of the many differences. It's that I know that _you_, Deacon, in your time," – she jabbed him in the chest – "have written some pretty _crappy_ songs. I mean really unfit-for-human-consumption songs."

"Yeah, ok, while wasted!" he protested.

"No, no, sometimes when you were stone cold sober, mister! I'm sure I have the evidence somewhere. And you have hit some bum notes right up there on stage with me, that's another thing."

Deacon shook his head in mock indignation, stretching in bed and slinging his arm around her shoulders. "Anything else you got there, Ray? I mean seriously, keep it coming, this is quality stuff."

"I'm just saying, is all," she laughed, reaching up to grab his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "Juliette is in _awe_ of you, Deacon. Me? I know too much."

"Well, you know, I could probably dredge up some pretty good dirt on you too if I wanted to, Ms James."

"Don't I know it," she returned wryly, as they lapsed into silence, just secret smiles and the folksy crooning of _The Lengths_ between them.

Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, if she did say so herself.

Minutes later, Deacon pulled her closer to him, leaning in to her ear.

"I'll tell you what I know about you, Rayna," he began, his voice gravelly, raising gooseflesh on her neck. "I know there ain't a person in the world who would've done what you did for me."

She frowned, turning her head to look at him quizzically. "What are you talking about?"

"You know," he answered lowly. "All of it. All that time. That last day you came by here, when I said that you gave up on me, that was just… I mean, obviously that was stupid."

He took a breath. "The truth is you saved my life. Multiple times. It's… sort of an ongoing thing really."

Rayna shook her head vigorously, surprised to find herself feeling so suddenly emotional. "You saved yourself," she corrected. "I'm just… happy that you did."

He smiled gently, looking at her for what felt like a long moment before closing the inches between them. He kissed her lips, soft and sweet, then her cheeks and her chin and her lips again, and again, and slowly again, as she raised a hand blindly to his face.

"What's gonna happen when you leave this house?" he whispered eventually against her skin, before moving back to look at her solemnly.

She inhaled and exhaled, slowly and noiselessly, unable to tear her eyes away. This was it, she thought.

This was really it.

"What do you think should happen?"

It was interesting, he thought, they way she'd phrased it. They were adults now – they dealt in duty and responsibility, not just desire.

"I don't know. Guess things are kinda complicated."

"Yeah," she agreed, a 'you-can-say-that-again' expression in her face.

"You know I love you, though," he said softly. "I mean," – he shrugged, almost apologetically - "you're the love of my life, Ray. That ain't changing in a hurry. So...that's one thing that's pretty simple."

Her breath hitched in her throat, tears springing to her eyes unbidden. And it was irrational, really, because in the midst of everything, she had always known this information to be true. They reaffirmed it all the time, in a manner of speaking.

_I care about you. I don't like seeing you upset. You mean a lot to me. I need you. I just want you to be happy. I'm proud of you._

"I'm in love with you," she half-whispered, barely aware of the words until they were spoken. And suddenly, hearing them out there like a hand of cards finally thrust on the table, the tears were falling, streaming silently down her cheeks.

He pulled her into a fierce hug, and she gripped on to him as if for dear life.

"You know that. And I feel like I'm so used to hiding it and ignoring it, but it's still just there - all the time," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

She pulled back a little, wanting to see him. "I have no idea, at this point, what it would feel like to _not_ be in love with you."

Deacon just took her face in his hands, wiping at her wet cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. Strange, she thought; she wasn't hysterical or heartbroken at all - if anything she felt a clarity and a release that was quite exhilarating. What were the tears about? She couldn't explain them.

Looking at him now, it was just so easy to recall that earnest eighteen-year-old who came to town and made Nashville feel like a whole new place. It was so easy to remember her own jagged edges and missing parts, and how they seemed to meet his to make something whole.

"When we met, it was just, like, so _obvious_, wasn't it?" she murmured absently, voicing her thoughts aloud.

"Yeah," he simply nodded. "It was."

"I can't go home right now and tell the girls mommy has a new boyfriend," she continued quietly, breezing seemlessly past the non-sequitur. "This has to be slow."

Deacon cracked a smile. "It's been twelve years, Ray. I can do slow for a while longer. We both can."

She smiled crookedly in return, "Well. I guess that's true. I'll tell you something, Deacon, this has been a bizarre form of torture that we have put each other through. We would probably be a psychotherapist's dream."

He had to agree. All this time, so near and yet so far. It had made for some good songs, he could say that for the experience but (somewhat atypically), this still wasn't enough to recommend it.

He shrugged. "I'm game if you are."

And they didn't sign the papers and pose for pictures that day, or that month, or even that year. But when people asked Deacon later when he and his wife had married, his mind always flashed, just for a second, to Rayna in his boxers and tshirt, with her messy hair and tired eyes, and the look on her face when she said:

"Deal."


End file.
